


the old ball and chain

by littoralbones



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26879101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littoralbones/pseuds/littoralbones
Summary: “We’ve been married for seven years....I can still make fun of you, right?”
Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	the old ball and chain

**Author's Note:**

> It always bothered me that Alistair would refer to his wife as a “ball and chain” in Dragon Age 2, so here’s what I came up with to justify the dialogue, which is based off a John Mulaney bit. Feat my warden, Morwena Cousland.

It wasn’t until Alistair pushed the bedchamber door shut that he felt somewhat at peace. Never in his nearly seven years of rule did he so badly wanted to seize the crown from his head and throw it. One thing always led to another, it seemed. The Blight. The civil war. The Archdemon. The exodus of hundreds of Fereldens to the Free Marches. Orlesian hopes of “reclaiming their lost province” in the midst of Ferelden’s vulnerability. Whispered rumors of a mage revolt. Alistair did take the crown from his head, but instead of flinging it like he wanted to, he placed it upon the hearth’s mantle and left it be. He ran his fingers through his hair, still feeling the shadow weight of the gold and bronze. Usually, Alistair forwent wearing the thing, unless a fancy occasion called for it-- such as receiving and feasting Orlesian dignitaries. A crown was a heavy burden, but at least Alistair didn’t have to bear the weight alone. 

Across the chamber, his queen was standing by the window, her own crown already set aside. Morwena gazed out to the evening sky as she unraveled her braided hair, her brow furrowed in quiet frustration. She had always been better at noble things. Graces. Subtlety. A well-placed remark. Serenity in the face of discontent. Charm and wit. But it seemed that she too had met her match that day. Alistair kept watching as Morwena combed her fingers through her black hair, until the strands returned to the loose curls that Alistair so badly wanted to feel between his own fingers. Actually, plenty of things then came to mind, of how he wanted to seek a night’s worth of respite against his wife’s warm brown skin.

“Rough day,” he declared lightly, walking closer to her. As he hoped, a bit of amusement brightened her face.

“I’ve half a mind to use the duke’s hat for target practice,” Morwena remarked, gathering her hair at her nape before letting it cascade down her back.

Alistair laughed. Duke Germain de Chalons was rather reasonable, reasonable enough to venture to Denerim and discuss their countries. Reasonable enough to want peace-- or the Orlesian idea of peace. But trouble was brewing in Orlais, as Leliana had mentioned. Morwena delicately wove the matter into their conversations, lightly enough to not alert the duke of Leliana’s spywork, but firm enough to get some grasp on the issue. The manner was of some concern to Duke Germain-- his nephew was Grand Duke Gaspard, the man who would have been emperor had it not been for Empress Celene’s machinations that convinced Orlais’ Council of Heralds to crown her instead-- and Alistair thought his accession was the talk of the town.

“Well, i’m not getting us involved in their Game, Morie,” Alistar declared. “There are too many rumors dancing right and left. I don’t like how they’re creeping into our court.”

“Hearsay can be just as dangerous as the truth,” Morwena remarked. “The Orlesians know this well.” 

She turned away from the window, her pensivity hiding something else. There was more to it, Alistair realized at once. He took her hand and urged her to speak. “No Orlesians here, my love,” he said, gazing into her honey-brown eyes. “What’s on your mind?”

Morwena pressed her lips together, the way she did when she was hesitant about something. “Rumors,” she then admitted. “The Orlesians would have surely heard them as well. I dread the day they find a way to use them against you.”

For a moment, Alistair was lost. “More rumors?” He queried, his thumb tracing gentle circles against the back of her hand. 

“That I married you for power. That i’m an oathbreaker for leaving the Grey Wardens. Oh, and that i’m barren.”

 _Old rumors_ , Alistair remembered. He had his share of them before, when, and after they put a crown onto his head. “None of those are true,” he said adamantly.

Morwena gave him a sad smile. “Not even the last one?”

Seven years came to pass with no signs of an heir. Even Arl Eamon, who had always been patient, was growing agitated, as though the prospect of a childless legacy bothered him more than it did Morwena. Alistar could still remember the letter she had found so many years ago in the ruins of Ostagar, written in Eamon’s hand, that suggested Calilan put his own queen Anora aside, as she too hadn’t produced an heir. As Alistair recalled the written words, a rare anger for the Arl flared. It was ultimately no one’s business, and he would hear no such thing from Eamon, should the old man ever dare to speak a vile suggestion of casting Morwena aside. 

“We’ll figure something out,” Alistair said gently, hoping to put her at some ease. “We always do.” 

Morwena was half in deep thought, her lips in a hard line as she contemplated something else. “It’s not just a baby that’s been bothering me…” she admitted. “It’s….its The Calling.”

Alistair felt a heavy pit drop into his stomach, a terrible weight already settling. _No, she’s still much too young_ , he insisted, as everything he knew about Calling flooded into his mind...the nightmares, the bad omens, the whispers, the strange music. “You haven’t begun hearing it, have you?” He asked.

“Oh, no,” she quickly reassured, her hand flitting up his chest, her palm over his heart. “Nothing of the sort... but it’s inevitable, isn't it? What happens then, should we not have an heir before?”

Alistair bit his lip, lifting his hand to cover the slender one resting against his chest. Yes, it _was_ inevitable, something that could not be warded off or simply ignored-- and in positions such as theirs, it would not be without attention should a king and queen, both perhaps acting strangely, suddenly vanish into the Deep Roads, unknownst to most, to fulfill the last of the duty they were thought to have set aside (or forsaken). Thankfully, The Calling was one of the Wardens’ best kept secrets, which no one of any country could think to use against the Ferelden crown. The reality of another heirless reign would have easily been upon their horizon. 

“Perhaps we should just make Rollo our heir,” Alistair decided, refusing to yield to the despair of it all. 

A smile came to Morwena’s face, surely at the thought of her old mabari, who was currently curled up in front of a fire somewhere in the castle, as the heir to Ferelden. 

Encouraged, Alistair went on. “Think about it. How many wars could a mabari start? None. What about treasonous acts? None. Scandalous affairs? None!” 

Then, Morwena laughed, a beautiful sound that made everything better at once. For all their time together, they’d yet to face an enemy or fear that had the better of them. That had little chance of changing; Alistair would cling to that with a stubborn hope. “We’ve been married for seven years,” he remarked happily. “I can still make fun of you, right?”

Morwena gave him a coy look. “Oh sure. Just don’t say that i’m a ball and chain, and that you don’t like me.”

Alistair snorted in laughter. “Really? Those are your demands? I would never say such a thing! Imagine if I went up to the duke and said ‘hello, my wife is a ball and chain and I don’t like her!’ Never! Not even as a joke, would I say that my wife is a ball and chain and I don’t like her. That is not true!” Alistair grabbed Morwena around her waist and pulled her close. “My wife is a ball and chain and I like her very much!”

Her amused smile became a scowl. Alistair grinned, and pressed his lips to her brow. “You can drag me to the edge of the world,” he murmured. “To the depths of the Fade, to the skywards of heaven. Just let me be with you forever.”

Morwena lifted herself on her toes, touching her nose to his. “Forever.”


End file.
